Geneeva closely inspected the runes he had painstakingly drawn out on the stone floor, the large circular design now covered an area several feet across, its crimson lettering shined out despite the dimness of the dusty room. It had taken him the better part of his evening to complete the project in preparation for the gifting ceremony to his lord. Humming to himself, he went over the lines, ensuring all the runes were properly connected, the slightest mistake could have dire consequences.

Everything’s nearly complete now, just to add the finishing touches…

As he finished drawing out the last of the runes, he heard the door slowly opening behind him, followed by the clink of shoes walking along the stone floor. He did not bother turning to see who it was, for only one person would dare enter here at this time without knocking first.

Ah Garret, if his father did not hold power, I would have never taken him under my wing.

“Garret, about time you showed up. Did you make the arrangements with the warden?” He questioned his assistant as he slowly stood up from his kneeling position. “A couple of prisoners destined for the chopping block will make a fine offering, shame they don’t have any rogue mages, mana makes a nice addition.” He spoke casually as he rechecked his work, despite not particularly liking his assistant he did find having someone to run his errands more convenient than not.

“Are the runes ready?” Garrett's voice was oddly out of character for the normally nervous assistant, it had a certain bluntness not normally present to it. Geneeva paused his work momentarily before continuing his inspection. Although he knew Garret was an ambitious man who was truly only here to seek power, he had also come to realize that he feared power more than he wanted it. His fear of the man kneeling before him inspecting runes had kept any hunger for power he had well in check.

“Of course, but what of the offering? Did you buy the required prisoners?” He felt a slight annoyance at the sudden tone Garret had taken, as he spoke he mixed mana from within himself into his voice, causing a dreadful aura to seep out into the room. “I Don’t have time to be scolding you today if you couldn’t secure any.”

“Y-yes, of course…” The familiar obedience had returned to his voice as the room seemed to become heavy around them. “Three prisoners were sentenced today, the warden gladly sold them to us.”

Much better.

Geneeva rose and turned to face his assistant, he slowly looked him over, letting his eyes pierce into him.

Still resembles a rat.

Garret had a narrowed face with a long nose, combined with a slim build and brown disheveled hair, he had always come off as rodent-like in appearance. If not for the fact he was the son of a local lord Geneeva would have pitied the man. However due to his lineage he enjoyed a life better than most, his attitude had even been cocky and aloof when he had come to be his apprentice, an attitude that was quickly extinguished when he came to understand just who he was learning from.

He had thought his lord father had forced me to take him, but quickly learned it was I who had done the forcing.

Not being from this nation few knew of his identity and forcing a lord to send his eldest son to learn rituals under him was as good as taking them hostage. If the lord did not provide access to his land and coffers it would be a simple fix. Kill his eldest, raze his lands and take what was needed to function till another lord was found. Long term resources provided more than short term plunder.

“Well, Bring them in.” His attitude relaxed seeing Garret revert to his usual manor, without hesitation the assistant turned on his heels and left the room, the sounds of shuffling chains could be heard as he returned with three men. Two of the men looked like typical prisoners, hairy faced, dirty tunics and a sturdy rope leaving their hands firmly tied behind their backs. The third man seemed out of place compared to his comrades, chains fastened his wrists together as well as his feet, leaving him just enough room to slowly shuffle about, his clothes were torn and ragged and the stench of urine filled the room as he entered. His beard was considerably fuller than the other prisoners, suggesting he had spent a considerable amount of time incarcerated. His bloodshot eyes showed fear as he glanced about the room, shaking his head slightly to clear his mopey black hair from his view, the gag that covered his mouth prevented him from speaking but he still attempted to make muffled noises from under it.

Smells like piss…

The stench coming off the man began permeating the room slowly, creating an unpleasant aroma in the confined space, it was the little things like this that bothered him more than the fact he was about to sacrifice these men to appease his God.

Being the last Death Shaman has its downside.

He chuckled slightly out loud at his thoughts, causing the one prisoner to panic slightly as tears began filling his eyes.

“Lets get that one out of the way first shall we?” He motioned to Garret who quickly shoved the man forward, the prisoner sensing danger quickly shoved back, trying to force his way past the assistant towards the door. In a flash Geneeva raised his hand and willed his mana forth, it struck out like a bolt towards the man freezing his movements completely.

“Even a charging bull could not resist me.” As he spoke he willed the prisoner to turn and begin walking towards him, without mana control of his own the prisoner was defenseless against the Shamans attack, the foreign mana poured into his flesh, seizing control from him.

Geneeva took special care to not let the prisoner approach too closely, lest his stench rub off on the black robes he currently wore. Although he disliked “Dressing the part” the old rituals of their God were not to be taken lightly. Death may be indifferent to the living but causing even the slightest inconvenience to him was not something he wanted to test, regardless of how strong he perceived his own ability it would undoubtedly be insignificant compared to Death incarnate.

As the prisoner stepped into the center runes Geneeva pulled out a ceremonial knife from his robes, it was of simple design, a bone handle crudely carved with an old bronze blade imbedded in it, it had been passed down through his clan for generations, never dulling or showing signs of wear. A blade blessed by death.

“This will only hurt a moment.” He stepped to the edge of the runes and willed the prisoner to remove his shirt, the blade would rob its victims of their life the second it pierced their heart. The prisoner's neck flexed as he helplessly tried to resist the command only to fail, his hands slowly coming up and grasping the dirty tunic he wore, a slight hesitation flashed through him before his arms involuntarily flexed, tearing open his tunic to expose his chest.

Geneeva eyes widened in surprise at the man's exposed chest, numerous runes had been burned along his skin covering his torso completely.

“GARRET!” His shout of rage filled the room as the newly exposed runes flashed out brightly “WHAT HAV-“his words cut short as the prisoner blew apart in a torrent of flame, Geneeva instinctively surged out mana in front of himself, unable to form it into a spell in such a short timeframe he simply pushed it out in a wave away from his body. Time seemed to slow around him as his senses increased drastically from the surging mana, the blue tinge in the air sparkled as it spread out from his being before violently clashing with the inferno rushing towards him. With a violent crackle the two forces met, time seemed to freeze as both forces flashed violently together. If he had been given a moment to compel his mana into a proper spell he would have quickly overpowered the attack before him, but raw mana despite its speed was crude in nature, with a final crackle the wave of mana shattered back under the force of the attack, only succeeding in slowing the flames before they struck his body, lifting him off his feet and flinging his body into the stone wall behind him. The force of the blow stealing the breath from his lungs as the fire licked hungrily at his flesh.

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Sliding down the wall he felt himself crumple into a sitting position on the ground, his head drooping forward to his chest. His one eye had been melted shut while the other refused to open, even so he knew without looking that the damage done to his body was severe. If not for the thick coating of mana he had expelled throughout the explosion to shield himself, his life would surely be forfeit.

Explains the difference in how the prisoners acted.

His overconfidence towards his cowardly assistant had been his downfall, it had never crossed his mind that Garret would hire assassins to aid him, disguising them as prisoners was an effective means of getting close, and combined with the prepped tunic blast he was now in a sad state of affairs.

“The Lord sends his regards to the shaman.” A thick voice spoke out close by as he felt another burst of pain erupt in his chest, he could not see but judging by the piercing sensation he presumed one of the men had just pierced his lungs with a short blade.

“You idiot!” Garrett's voice rang out as his footsteps scurried forward. “I must be the one to kill him! This blade cost my father a fortune, it cannot be wasted!”

Feeling his thoughts clear slightly he began drawing mana forth in his right arm and what remained of his unburned eye, he thanked his God that he could at least hear still, if he had been robbed of all his senses he wouldn’t be able to judge the location of his assistant as he walked towards him.

With a sudden burst of mana he forced his eye open, his perception raising drastically as mana infused with what remained of the tarnished eye, the man kneeling in front of him opened his eyes wide in surprise, just in time to have His throat pierced with a mana clad hand. Before anyone could react A sudden burst of Mana erupted from Geneeva’s back, propelling him through the air across the room, his assistant jumped back as he collided with the other assassin. As they fell to the ground he slapped his hand across the man's face, although the blow was light he had infused his mana into a rune of decay, before his hand had left the man his flesh began to rot and decay, causing him to thrash about wildly while clutching his face.

Quickly infusing mana into his legs he controlled them like he had done with the prisoner earlier, he might not be capable of moving his limbs himself, but he could force the limbs to move like a puppet under his thoughts. Slowly clambering to his feet he turned to face his apprentice, who had been standing mouth agape at the sight of what he perceived to be a burnt corpse now moving about.

“You…ve…maaade…an ..err…or...in…judge…ment.” His voice grated out painfully as he stepped towards him. Fear flashed across his assistant’s eyes as he fumbled for a dagger from his coat. Holding the black blade in front of him he shakily raised his hands.

“Stay back!” Garrets words squeaked out as he shook slightly. Geneeva paid him no mind as he stepped forward, his hand clenching with power. His mana flowed in full strength throughout his body forming a concentrated protective barrier around him.

A Knights lance wouldn’t be able to pierce me now Garret, what makes you think you’ll do anything but die a painful death?

Lunging forward faster than his assistant could react to, he tightly clenched his hand around his throat, the decay began instantly as the man struggled helplessly under his grip. Holding him steady he watched as the rot spread throughout his throat and face, his mouth gaped open as he tried to scream only to wheeze instead, his throat unable to form any coherent noises anymore.

Serves you right, you greedy little shit.

With a final weak shudder his assistant passed on, falling limply to the ground as he released his grip.

I'll have to focus to heal this much damage.

He began calling forth even more mana to heal his wounds, cursing himself that he had never learned any proper healing runes. It would take him some time with plenty of raw mana expenditure to reverse the damage he had taken.

Something…seems...off…

As he brought forth mana it seemed to leak out from his grasp, draining away quickly, momentarily focusing he searched for the cause of his ailment, before realizing it was escaping from his stomach, looking down the hilt of the dagger his assistant wielded could be seen. The blade handle now alive with several smaller runes that glowed greedily as they drank his life. Reaching down with his working arm he grasped the dagger firmly, attempting to pull it from his midsection. A firm yank returned no results as the blade refused to budge, focusing his shrinking mana pool into his arm he pulled harder still, exerting a force far beyond what any normal human could, with a sickening pop the bone in his wrist snapped under the pressure, but the blade remained still.

Is…Is this a soul blade?

His mind raced as he realized that he was not clear of the danger his assistant had put him in, the blade was a cursed weapon that once struck into a victim would not leave their flesh until it had drained them of their mana, strength and finally very life and soul.

How could he afford such a weapon?

Even if his father had sold all his lands and fortunes he would never have been capable of getting his hands on such a blade, he could count the organizations on a single hand that had such weapons of old still intact.

Unless…

His eyes wandered to the corpses of the two assassins Garret had brought along, although he had overtaken them both quickly it was obvious that they had been the ones to place the runes along the prisoner’s chest, his assistant was never so skilled. He cursed inwardly knowing he had precious little time to investigate their bodies as the blade drained his strength. Already he could feel the mana threads operating his limbs beginning to fade. Could they have been from an organization out to get him?

Probably charged his father a good sum and planned to kill the boy for the blade the second I was done for. The real worth lies in the blade's ability to trap a soul.

Those who succumbed to such a blade were destined to suffer for eternity as the wielder could draw on their souls to serve. A fate he did not particularly look forward to. Feeling his legs buckle and slip out from under him he felt a surge of panic in his throat, he had long known of the effects of soul blades and had even seen one up close many years ago. The runic magic used in it was ancient and powerful, he knew of no one escaping its grasp, nor did he know where to even begin. He doubted he could come up with a plan if he had weeks to think it over, but now he had just mere moments.

I’m going to die here...and some smug mage is going to make me his plaything to come to his service as he sees fit…Pathetic.

Racking his brain he tried to look around the room, desperate to find an escape, his eyes eventually falling on the mess that was the inmate he had meant to sacrifice, the runes he had spread out that morning had shrugged off the explosion with ease, as testament to his Gods will to receive its owed offerings.

If you’re going to go out…make it on your own terms.

Trying to will mana into his body to move, he found himself unable to move any past his stomach, the blade had already depleted his massive reserves in short order, and he could feel his vision blurring as his life was now being sucked away as well. Forcing what little energy he had left into his arm he began slowly dragging himself forward, cursing his bad luck as he went, his charred skin peeled against the stone floor, revealing the sticky flesh underneath. Gritting his teeth he ignored the pain as he focused on the task at hand, eventually reaching his goal.

The Runic circle.

Dragging himself onto the runes he relaxed momentarily to regain his focus, pushing what little mana reserves he had left towards the blade he attempted to swamp its absorption rate, leaving it sucking greedily at him drawing on years of experience he now worked on manipulating his very soul, thanking his God how skillful he had become over the years at it, with a final surge of power he willed it towards the ruins, aiming to make contact.

Forcing part of his soul to extend outside his body caused extreme discomfort as he felt his mental fortitude strain at such a task, seeing no response he felt his moral plummet.

Doomed to that cursed blade…

As if answering his plea the runes sprang to life, glowing a deep crimson red as he felt them pull at his very being, the feeling could only be explained as falling from a great height as he felt his being rushing towards some unknown force, the blade imbedded in his guts pulled hard on him a well, threatening to tear his soul apart, though the act was in vain as he felt the runes wretch him from the cursed blades grip effortlessly.

For my God is a greedy one…

Smiling faintly, he felt his world dim as darkness overtook his thoughts, eventually fading to nothingness.